


Hope In A Faraway Place

by crimsoncomradeposts



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, Alternate Universe - World War I, Angst, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Gun Violence, Head Injury, Violence, World War I
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:02:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24737362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsoncomradeposts/pseuds/crimsoncomradeposts
Summary: The year is 1917. America has just declared war on Germany after suffering hundreds of civilians lost at sea at the hands of German submarines. Nearly a month after signing up for the newly implemented registry, Kylo finds himself on a boat to France, drafted in the first World War. Little does he know just how much his life is about to change when he meets you, a nurse at the Hautmont Hospital. But outward appearances are not at all what they seem.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Reader, Kylo Ren/You
Comments: 5
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This will be the only chapter that's set up with the timeline format. I just needed to do so in order to get the story set up.

**April 2, 1917**

_ On the third of February last I officially laid before you the extraordinary announcement of the Imperial German Government that on and after the first day of February it was its purpose to put aside all restraints of law or of humanity and use its submarines to sink every vessel that sought to approach either the ports of Great Britain and Ireland or the western coasts of Europe or any of the ports controlled by the enemies of Germany within the Mediterranean. _

The radio crackles, static filling the silent pauses between carefully crafted sentences of Woodrow Wilson’s impassioned speech to Congress. Kylo’s joined a group of his coworkers, the lot of them surrounding the small device, listening intently to the broadcast. There’s a feeling of dread that settles into the pit of his stomach, and he knows, he  _ just knows _ what’s to come of this all. There had been far too many attacks by Germany on neutral ships, and this latest — with 128 Americans on board — had been the final straw for the United States.

_ Vessels of every kind, whatever their flag, their character, their cargo, their destination, their errand, have been ruthlessly sent to the bottom: without warning and without thought of help or mercy for those on board, the vessels of friendly neutrals along with those of belligerents. Even hospital ships and ships carrying relief to the sorely bereaved and stricken people of Belgium, though the latter were provided with safe conduct through the proscribed areas by the German Government itself and were distinguished by unmistakable marks of identity, have been sunk with the same reckless lack of compassion or of principle. _

“This is it, boys,” says Hux, his hand clapping Kylo on the back. “Wilson hasn’t even said it yet, but this is it.” Kylo shrugs out of his touch, scowling at both Hux and the broadcast. The redhead pays him no mind, instead turning to Poe, practically grinning from ear to ear.

_ It is a distressing and oppressive duty, Gentlemen of the Congress, which I have performed in thus addressing you. There are, it may be many months of fiery trial and sacrifice ahead of us. It is a fearful thing to lead this great peaceful people into war, into the most terrible and disastrous of all wars, civilization itself seeming to be in the balance. _

“You hear that? What’d I say? Did I call that or what?” Hux is beyond pleased with himself, though he seems to be the only one in the group that’s anything other than fraught with uncertainty. “We’re goin’ to war.”

Thirty-six hundred miles away in Hautmont, France, amidst the chaos and the war itself, the same broadcast blares through the otherwise quiet nurse’s station of the hospital. You and two of your coworkers are bent over the desk, elbows atop the counter, chin in your hands as you hang on every word of Wilson’s speech.

“Do you think they’ll come here,” asks Rey, her gaze shifting between you and Phasma. “The Americans?”

Both you and Phasma exchange a worried look at the prospect, and with a sigh, you rise up and away from the desk, posture straightening while your fingers drum against the counter top. “It’s either here or Belgium,” Phasma says first.

“It’s been getting worse here,” you counter, to which both women nod their heads in agreement. They’d be hard pressed to disagree, of course. The Germans have already come to occupy the town, as well as the surrounding communities, declaring Northeastern France for themselves. Life within the town you’d grown to love so much has drastically changed; open air markets and bustling streets have tapered off dramatically, what with the German soldiers ensuring everyone stays inside unless absolutely necessary. Hautmont’s become less of a home and more of a prison.

_ But the right is more precious than peace, and we shall fight for the things which we have always carried nearest our hearts,-for democracy, for the right of those who submit to authority to have a voice in their own Governments, for the rights and liberties of small nations, for a universal dominion of right by such a concert of free peoples as shall bring peace and safety to all nations and make the world itself at last free. To such a task we can dedicate our lives and our fortunes, everything that we are and everything that we have, with the pride of those who know that the day has come when America is privileged to spend her blood and her might for the principles that gave her birth and happiness and the peace which she has treasured. God helping her, she can do no other. _

The words fade into the background, lost to the chatter of the three of you as you exchange your worries and your woes, taking comfort in one another’s presence. It won’t be long now until the Americans officially enter the war, throwing the once European war onto the world stage, shining a spotlight on the atrocities committed by the German leadership.

\------------------------------------

**May 19, 1917**

**PRESIDENT’S PROCLAMATION!** _Selective Conscription Law Presented To Country._

The bold headline is everywhere, seemingly on every newspaper in some shape or form. It had taken just a little over a month for Wilson to sign off on the Selective Services Act, requiring that every American male citizen between the ages of twenty-one and thirty register with the United States government, increasing military establishment within the country.

Kylo steps out of the recruitment office, taking a moment to glance down at the thin piece of paper in his hand. **REGISTRATION CERTIFICATE**. The words scream up at him, effectively sealing his fate for the foreseeable future. He’s done his duty, did what the country required of him and registered for the military. All that remains to be seen is whether or not he’ll be one of the poor bastards his own country forces into battle.

\------------------------------------

**June 25, 1917**

The creaks and groans of metal sound as the ship that carries Kylo and the remainder of his fellow soldiers bobs up and down in the waves of the Atlantic. France is just out of sight, but it won’t be long now until they join the Western Front, taking up occupancy in Chaumont. The plan is to advance towards Belgium, and should they succeed, drive back the German forces—and with any luck, put an end to this war once and for all.

“How much longer?” Poe’s voice pulls Kylo from his thoughts, his gaze shifting over to where Hux and Poe sit, the former shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly while he shovels another bite of food into his mouth.

Poe’s attention turns from Hux to Kylo, who gives him the same type of shrug that Hux had only moments prior. “Hard to say. Shouldn’t be too much longer, though.”

“Heard we’ll be fighting alongside Canada and Australia too. Can you fuckin’ believe that?  _ Australia _ , of all places, has shown up to fight.” Poe huffs an amused breath, and Hux does the same, both men shaking their heads in disbelief.

Kylo picks at his food aimlessly, any sense of hunger long gone and has been ever since he’d received notice that he’d been one of the unlucky ones drafted up to take part in this war. Commotion sounds from the opposite end of the room where the men sit, heavy footsteps clamor down the metal set of stairs leading to the room until another one of the men makes an appearance; Finn, if Kylo remembers the man’s name correctly.

“We’re here,” he says, nearly out of breath, and Kylo can’t tell if it’s from nerves or excitement. “We’ve made it.”


	2. Chapter 2

The front line is much quieter than Kylo had been led to believe when he’d listened to the radio broadcasts prior to his arrival in France. The small attacks they’ve received since he’d joined in the trenches have been few and far between, and the palpable tension that had rolled off of himself and the other newcomers upon arrival has since dissipated entirely, replaced by boredom. Kylo, Hux, Poe, and Finn sit around a worn wooden table in one of the many underground dugouts that connect to the trenches, a single bulb strung up from a wire on the ceiling lighting the small space. Each one holds cards in their hands, a scorecard and pencil sitting just to Hux’s right. Finn is the first to set a card down in the center of the table: a ten of spades.

Kylo smirks to himself, his gaze flickering over the edge of the cards in his hand to where Hux sits across from him, a smirk of his own plastered on his features. If a ten is the best Finn or Poe have, then Kylo and Hux will be sure to sweep this round, and it will be all they need to claim an overall victory for the night. Hux lays down a Queen of the same suit, the move causing both Poe and Finn to grunt in unison.

“We don’t have all night, Dameron.” Kylo’s voice cuts through the quiet of the space, and Poe’s gaze flickers to where he sits, a look of irritation flashing across his features before a smirk of his own quirks his lips upward.

Poe tosses down the King of spades, effectively besting Hux’s play. It’s up to Kylo to pull out the win now. He’s prepped and ready, his free hand lifting to grasp the edge of the Ace that he holds, pinching the card between his thumb and forefinger. Kylo’s in the midst of pulling it free from the other cards in his grasp when all of a sudden the ground shakes and a loud boom can be heard.

“It’s the Germans,” screams out someone from just outside of where the four men sit. “They’ve advanced across ‘No Man’s Land’!” The words muddy and mix with a myriad of indistinguishable screaming, the sound of rapid gunfire quickly following. In an instant, the men shove their chairs back, each one of them rising up to dart away from the table, grabbing their rifles as they go. Cards fall haphazardly towards the ground, dropped without so much as a care, some of them floating to the dirt floor, others managing to land on the table. It’s absolute chaos the moment that they step out from the dugout. Men are yelling, running in every direction while gunfire continues to spout off, the sounds much louder now. Overhead, a German plane flies, two British ones chasing it, exchanging their own gunfire in the aerial battle as the war rages on in the trenches and field below.

“Three sixty-ninth! First wave! Ten seconds!” Chewie’s voice carries even above the sounds of gunfire, his call to arms commanding the men to gather into formation in preparation of storming the fields above the trenches. Kylo falls into line beside Hux, their bodies coming to rest against the slope of the trench, feet digging into the dirt to get a good push-off point. The two men exchange glances, neither one saying a word to the other, instead opting for a nod in the end just as Chewie lifts the whistle to his mouth and blows, the sound carrying down throughout the trench.

A thunderous roar sounds as hundreds of men rush up out of the trenches, Hux and Kylo quick to follow suit, exhaling battle cries of their own while they charge the field, guns at the ready. Explosions sound all around them, kicking up dirt higher than anything that Kylo’s ever witnessed, creating large craters in their wake and clouding the field with a gray haze that makes it difficult to see. Some of the bombs hit their mark, sending men flying through the air, tearing up others into unrecognizable pieces. What the Germans don’t hit with their bombs, they make up for in their gunfire, bullets whirring and ripping through the air to cut down a large chunk of the men that Kylo fights alongside with.

Continuing to charge the field, Kylo utilizes the bayonet on the end of his rifle to pierce the stomach of one of the oncoming Germans. There is the briefest moment of shock that flashes across his face, the same look mirrored by the soldier on the receiving end of his weapon just as Kylo yanks back the rifle to remove the bayonet. The man collapses to the ground, hands clutching the wound as blood begins to stain the wool material of his uniform.

It isn’t until he hears Hux calling for him that he’s snapped from this moment, Kylo’s gaze shifting to the left to scan where he’d heard the voice come from. He hears his name called again, and it’s then that he realizes that Hux is on the ground, hands gripping a wound of his own. Slinging the strap of his rifle up and over his shoulder, Kylo breaks out into a sprint to reach him, feet carrying him past other fallen soldiers and torn up terrain until he skids to a halt on his knees besides Hux.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” It’s the only word that’s able to leave Kylo’s mouth while unsteady hands move to push Hux’s out of the way so he can see the damage that’s been done.

Hux inhales a shaky breath, eyes casting upward towards the grey, overcast sky before they turn back down to Kylo again. “I’ve been hit. I got — ” He chokes on the words, a rough cough shaking his entire body, face contorting into one of pain when he winces. Only when the couch subsides does he speak again, finishing his shot. “I got shot.”

That much, Kylo thinks, is apparent. Just from a quick assessment, Kylo can see that Hux has taken a hit to his right shoulder, left hip, and stomach. If he’s lucky, and if Kylo can bring him back to the trenches, he just might have a shot at living. “We’ve got to get you back,” he says breathlessly to Hux who’s already on his second coughing fit, his head shaking from side to side.

“You can’t,” Hux replies, his voice weak. “Leave me.” Kylo opens his mouth to protest, but the moment that he does, Hux reaches up to grasp Kylo’s uniform, yanking him down nearly to his level on the ground. “You know what you have to do.”

He does.

“I do,” he replies, the words nearly lost as another blast rings out nearby. Without further hesitation, Kylo yanks himself out of Hux’s grasp and turns to grab onto the back of the collar of Hux’s own uniform, beginning to drag him back away from the battle and towards the trenches.

Any and all protests made by Hux are drowned out by the artillery and gunfire, and up ahead, the trench has already come into view, the mounds of dirt they’d rushed out from just out of reach. They’ve nearly arrived when an unseen enemy nearby lobs an Eierhandgranate in their direction, the small grenade exploding on impact the moment that it meets the ground in front of Kylo, sending both he and Hux flying backwards as pieces of rock and metal follow, sharp edges cutting into Kylo’s face and uniform.

The wind is knocked out of Kylo when his back hits the ground, the breath leaving his lungs with a whoosh, eyes rolling back in his head briefly as pain cuts across his face. Any and all sound of the battle that rages on around them has now been muted by the ringing that fills his ears, the vision in his right eye is clouded with red as blood pools in place there, and soon enough, his world goes black.

\----------------------------

When Kylo wakes, he is no longer on the battlefield. Instead, he finds himself lying on the comfort of a mattress in what appears to be a hospital. He makes an attempt to move, but is stopped short by the immense pain that radiates outward from his chest. Kylo winces, the slightest whimper escaping him when he lowers his head back down onto the pillow. His left hand lifts, gently tracing the cloth that’s wrapped around his chest before he reaches higher, finding the left half of his face bandaged as well.

“Oh.” The breathy sound captures his attention immediately, and when he whips his head to the side to look at the source of the sound, he regrets the decision immediately. He feels dizzy, lightheaded, and if he does that again he feels that he’ll undoubtedly pass out.

His left eye closes, and though the ringing in his ears still persists, he’s still able to hear the soles of your shoes against the floor when you step forward. “Nice to see that you’re finally awake.”

Kylo slowly, slowly turns his head, waiting for the dizziness to pass before he risks opening his eye again, and when he does, he finds that you are standing at his bedside, a warm smile beaming down at him.

“Hux?” His voice is hoarse from the lack of use, and he can tell by the way that your smile falters and morphs into a frown that you’re unsure of what he’s saying. He swallows, throat dry, but he still persists, needing to know if Hux is alright. “My… My friend. Hux. Did he make it?”

Your mouth forms a small ‘o’ in recognition, hands clasped in front of you when you nod. “He’s here. Alive, yes, though still not out of the woods.”

Kylo exhales a sigh of relief, but even something as small as that sets off the pain in his chest, his face contorting into one that reflects how he’s feeling, and a groan slipping past his lips.

“You need to take it easy.” He wants to laugh at that, but then thinks better of it, all things considered. “You’ve sustained some serious damage. We’ve sutured up the wound on your face and your chest, but your ribs are broken. And…” You inhale a breath, your head shaking. “I fear you’ve suffered a concussion with how long you’ve been out.”

“How long?”

“A full day,” you reply softly, unclasping your hands so you can begin to check the bandages. “I’ll take you to see your friend, if you like.”

That captures Kylo’s attention. His head nods slowly so as not to set off yet another spat of dizziness, and only once you’ve given him the once over, satisfied that he’s progressing properly thus far, you lift a hand with your index finger extended upward. “Give me a moment.”

He watches as you turn and disappear for a few moments, his attention never leaving the doorway until you return with a wheelchair pushed in front of you. Stopping once you’re back at his bedside, you abandon the wheelchair momentarily in order to help him up from the bed. It’s slow going, helping to lift him up into a sitting position, ensuring that you go at such a slow pace that he doesn’t become lightheaded. From there, you aid him in swinging his legs over to the bed’s edge, and then the two of you move towards the wheelchair. Kylo lowers himself down without your help, only wincing once when his ribs scream at him in protest.

It takes one good, hearty push to get the wheelchair rolling thanks to Kylo’s stature, but once the wheels start turning, it’s easy going exiting the room to maneuver down the hall to where Hux lies in a room of his own. He’s a pitiful sight, Kylo thinks to himself when you stop the wheelchair at his bedside. He’s as pale as Kylo’s ever seen him, unmoving beneath the covers that rest across his body, stopping at his chest.

“We took him straight to surgery when you two arrived,” you say, breaking through Kylo’s thoughts. “The worst of it was the hit he took to his stomach.” But of course, Kylo already knew that. That’s what he had been afraid of. When he fails to respond, you take a tentative step back, moving to the end of the bed. “I’ll give you two some time.”

“Wait,” he says when you’ve nearly left the room. He waits for you to turn around to face him again before he speaks again. “Stay.”

There is a slight hesitation on your part, but when Kylo refuses to look away from where you stand, you nod your head and comply with his request. This time when you approach the bed, you take one of the chairs from the corner of the room and scoot it to the end of the bed and have a seat.

“Where are we? What hospital is this?”

You shift a little in your seat, ankles crossing while your hands smooth out the fabric of the nurse’s uniform you currently wear. “You’re in Hautmont.”

Kylo’s eye widens at this new information. “Isn’t that — ”

“German occupied, yes.”

His jaw works, lips pulling in slightly when he swallows. “How did we get here?”

“You were brought in by some farmers; pulled from the battlefield and transported to a halfway point where they took over transporting.”

His brow creases when he listens to you, a frown pulling the corners of his mouth downward.

“I know you have more questions, and in time you’ll get your answers. But for now, you need to rest, as does your friend. If he manages to steer clear of infection, I think he may have a real chance of pulling through.”

Kylo nods, saying no more when you rise up from your seat and make your way to where he sits, hands grasping the handles of the wheelchair.

“Not to worry,” you say as you begin to wheel him out of the room. “I’ll bring you here daily for a visit if you wish.”

He does. Very much so.


End file.
